You're too important to me
by Zouzou0517
Summary: Just a set of OS that only serves to soothe my frustration when my reading of a scene is different from others or when I miss a particular scene...
1. Alone Together

_604 - a dive into Bellamy's mind at the party - a little bit of Cillian (sorry) and a little bit of Echo (because it's canon compliant)_

* * *

I don't want to be at this party.

However, I do know why I forced myself to come.

Because we must honor the customs of Sanctum. Because we have to integrate. Because we have to show that we are involved. Because we need to make them understand what kind of model citizens we will be.

What I don't know, on the other hand, is why I'm staying so long.

The music is too loud, the lights too bright, the people too loud and too many. Every place my eyes are looking at reminds me of something I don't have, something I've lost, something I've given up.

People are too well dressed and I didn't go so far as to put on a decent outfit. I kept on me the clothes I wore when I came out of cryo three days earlier. I didn't even have time to sew up the hole in my right thigh caused by Clarke's knife wound.

Drinks and food are plentiful, but I am neither hungry nor thirsty. I know what effect alcohol has on me, so I almost never drink it, and my appetite is cut off by what I had to do less than 24 hours earlier.

In a corner of the castle's large reception room, a group of young girls is dancing, jumping and smiling. Their relaxed and bouncing silhouettes are reminding me of my sister at the same age. Their whirlwinds are taking me back to that other celebration, that one where everything changed. Their chuckling is breaking my heart while Octavia's young and frail laughter resonates in my memories.

I remember the last time I attended such an event - an official celebration organized in every detail and supervised by adults, not the kind of messy and debauched rave Jasper used to launch at the brink of the end of the world.

The last time I was at such a celebration, in the space of a solar flare, my whole life had changed. I had lost everything in a split second. My guard post. My sister. My mother. Everything.

Isn't that one of my biggest regrets? If I hadn't insisted on taking Octavia to the party, my mother wouldn't have died, my sister wouldn't have been sent to detention, wouldn't have been chosen to be one of the 100. I would have stayed on the guard. I would never have tried everything to save a single person. I wouldn't have shot the chancellor. I wouldn't have known the war that caused dozens of young people to die at the hands of the Grounders. Everything would have been different.

_Would I even have survived the landing of the Ark on Earth? Would I be here today?_

I shake my head as I feel tears flowing down my eyelids. I won't let them sink. I will not allow anyone to break through my barriers and see my weaknesses, especially not when I know that the leaders of Sanctum and other Primes are also at this celebration and are surely watching us.

My gaze finally falls on a lighter vision, although also full of strong emotions, which Jordan and Delilah are dancing languidly together in the middle of the dance floor. The bubble around them looks so solid. Nothing seems to break it. They are enjoying losing themselves in each other. Their eyes never leave one another, except when their lips meet and unite before separating with big smiles. I know that, wherever they are, Monty and Harper must smile too, thankful for their son's happiness.

A slight quiver stretches my lips and I find myself smiling, too. I didn't think I could manage it yet. I do not regret my decision to leave Octavia alone in the woods. I know it was the best thing for everyone to do. She was a danger to herself, to others, and to our chances of survival in this world.

However, not regretting it doesn't mean that I don't feel anything. It will take me several days, maybe weeks, to recover. If I ever recover. What is certain is that I am not yet able to face the storm of resentment that is roaring inside me. I'm not yet able to make amends.

Suddenly, I watch Delilah grinning at something behind Jordan's shoulder, then diverting her lover's attention to someone who has just arrived. I am so lost in the ease and candor of their interactions, that it takes me several moments to also look up at what they both now look at with admiration.

_Clarke..._

But I only have one second to grasp the golden sheen of her hair, one second to see the sapphire glow of her irises and the surprise mixed with amazement of her expression as she looks into the hall, that she is already gone, pulled forward by a man I recognize as the doctor who, with his snake, had cured Murphy.

_Cillian_

I don't want to remember his name, but that's the way it is. Until I feel safe in this so-called "sanctuary", I will have to remember their names, count their guards, visualize the emergency exits as soon as I enter a room.

I struggle to keep calm, I know how much Clarke needs our relationship with the people of Sanctum to go well, but that doesn't stop me from keeping an eye on her to make sure she's safe.

The premise of the smile that was on my lips a minute ago gets a little bigger when I see her own grin through the crowd. Her blue dress underlines each one of her curves, the very curves I try not to look at. She glows and I am overwhelmed. If anyone deserves a little happiness, it's Clarke. I can't imagine what she went through for 6 years on Earth with Madi, but I don't think it's always been a picnic.

My smile fades immediately when I see her hands binding with the doctor's before her arms come to circle his neck. The look she gives him then takes all the heat from my body while the embers of her blue eyes ignite her partner's.

And suddenly, his own hands are everywhere, first on her back, then on her hips. She laughs when he makes her spin, then closes her eyes when he puts her against his chest, his forearm pinning her all against him. He puts his other palm against her stomach, possessive and suddenly the air disappears from my lungs and I shudder in this icy atmosphere, unable to do anything, to say anything or to catch my breath.

I watch Cillian as he leans his face into Clarke's blond hair, then into the hollow of her neck as she sways against him in her night blue dress and I feel my heart suddenly pulsing into my chest and resounding at my eardrums. The heat comes back, brutal and stifling, makes my whole being vibrating, makes my hands trembling until I clench them in determined fists.

I know I have no right to feel that way. Besides, I don't want to name the feelings which are trying to overtake me when I'm at the very lowest. To survive, I have to think with my head, not my heart. This is the motto I have been repeating myself for the past six years ( more or less 125 years), it has worked until now, so why do I have the feeling that it has faded and escaped me since our return to Earth?

Prisoner of the storm that is raging within me, I keep my eyes fixed on Clarke and Cillian dancing among the crowd. The outside world disappears during those seconds that seem hours and my heart keeps beating, my hands keep shaking, time keeps stopping until...

**"Hey."**

_Echo._

The few steps that are taking me away from the dance floor and getting closer to her are both a torture and a huge relief. I even have trouble looking away when she asks me, suddenly worried:

**"What's wrong?"**

It' s only when she says the words that I realize the tears that have been silently running down my cheeks for probably several minutes.

**"Last time I was at a party, my sister got arrested."**

It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either, and I hate it. I hate not being honest with her. However, what more could I say to her and how could I explain my inner torment when I am unable to put words on it myself?

**"Bellamy, if you're going to tear yourself apart, then let's just go get her."**

She will never know how much this sentence echoes in me. To what extent I can associate these words with the two situations that cause me to tear myself apart. But it' s not that simple and suddenly, in front of this unfairness that I can no longer bear, anger prevails.

**"This is not me tearing myself apart, this is me being human. Feeling things when the people I love are in trouble, or die. The Echo I knew on the Ring did that too. Why don't you?"**

Her face remains unmoved despite the harsh words I am throwing to her and my anger grows even stronger.

**"That's not about me," she says.**

She's right, but she's wrong. It's not about her, it's about me. It's about the people that life keeps taking away from me. My friends, my family, Octavia, Clarke... Clarke dancing with Cillian. Cillian putting his hands and lips where I dreamed of putting mine for so long, even when I thought I had lost her, even when the end of the world was threatening, as far as I can remember. Clarke, who knows and has always known what words to say, what gestures to have towards me so that I immediately feel reassured, comforted, supported... Clarke whose emotions are always so pure, so true, so raw when she speaks to me and shares her thoughts with me without ever having an ulterior motive. Echo is right, but she is also wrong. It's about her too, in a way.

**"No? We lost Harper and Monty three days ago! How does that make you feel? Because I have no idea."**

Her silence is the only answer I need.

**"I lost my sister yesterday. It's going to take me a little while not to feel anything... Like a good Azgeda spy. But I'll keep trying."**

I don't see what impact my last words have on her. I already know what her expression will be: cold and impassive as if nothing was reaching her and nothing was hurting her. Maybe I'm basically jealous of this ability to compartmentalize? Jealous of the power she has over her own emotions while mine is swirling and shaking inside me, unruly under the seemingly smooth and peaceful surface of the face that I present every day to the rest of the world.

From the corner of my eye, I see her swallowing before nodding her head painfully. I see her turning her back on me and walking slowly, down, towards the exit of the ballroom and already, remorse is eating me up and I know that in a few minutes or hours, I will find her, I will go get her and ask her for forgiveness, because she doesn't deserve to be the target of my wrath.

On the dance floor that I continue to observe, Clarke and Cillian are gone now and I try not to think about where they are, or what they are doing. I try not to think, not to feel.

And even if I just fail, again and again, I will keep trying.


	2. Soft Wounds

_603 - Because Bellamy strangled Clarke with his bare hands and tried to kill her during the eclipse... and no one ever spoke of this again (?)_

* * *

We've been held here for hours, and Bellamy hasn't met my eyes for a single minute. Not that I watch time pass by or currently realize it, but this information remains latent, silent knowledge that occasionally tickles my conscience.

Murphy still hasn't returned from his journey to the afterlife. My mother continues to watch him and Emori has not moved from his side, overwhelmed by devouring remorse.

Jackson has just finished healing the wound he caused Miller in the craziest moments of the eclipse and the guilt seems to be eating away at him too.

In one corner of the room, I can almost see the tears that Raven is preventing herself from letting flow. The grief of losing Shaw makes her hazel eyes shine with a glow that I can hardly face.

Echo remains not far from her, ready to act from one second to the next, to defend or comfort her, I cannot say. Ready to fight for her anyway, that's for sure. Present for the sister she found during those six years in space.

Everyone seems busy ruminating about the latest events and worrying about the future and that's what I'm thinking about: Bellamy hasn't spoken to me for hours, not a single word or a single look.

I feel pathetic.

The word makes me shiver, brings me back to that moment before the red sun when I almost thought I had found him again. The Bellamy to whom I was addressing each of my radio messages. The Bellamy with whom to talk and joke, even during our darkest hours, had always been so natural, as natural as breathing.

_"A little pathetic maybe..."_

This Bellamy, the one from our conversation earlier in the day, the one who had given me one of the sweetest smiles I have ever seen, this Bellamy is so far from the one that the eclipse transformed, so far from the person who tied his hands around my neck until the air in my lungs became so thin that I saw the death for a second. I know that the person who did this to me, as well as the person who tried to drown Murphy, is not this Bellamy- my Bellamy. None of this is his fault, and I would tell him if he even bothered to speak to me for one second. He would read it in my eyes if he dared to look me in the eye for a moment.

When Russell finally comes back with his crew and starts talking to us, I feel relieved. I could not have stayed inactive and trapped in this guesthouse for one more minute, stuck with a family from which I feel excluded, without having the slightest idea of what awaits us.

Madi is in danger. The outside of the radiation field is not safe. I have to go get her. I have to get her back to safety.

Leading, deciding and ordering comes back to me so naturally that I forget for a second that I am in disgrace with those I call my friends. Raven's words bring me back to earth immediately (if I may say so) but nothing can taint Bellamy's sudden, unexpected and absolute trust when Russel asks me:

**"Are you the leader of these people, or not?"**

Without having to turn around, I hear Bellamy approaching, I feel his warmth right behind me, his always reassuring presence and his voice so confident when he answers:

**"She is. She can speak for us."**

Overwhelmed by anguish, I don't immediately put the words into the right context. In my mind, several voices are colliding and getting tangled. The loudest shouts "Madi, Madi, Madi, Madi, Madi, Madi" over and over again, afraid of knowing that she may be in danger, eager to come to her rescue. The other echoes Bellamy's words and, at first, I barely hear it, this voice. It whispers:

_"283 lives for one, she must be pretty important to you?"_

Then another answer:

_"She is."_

When the decision is made against my will and I am forced to stay in Sanctum to talk to these people. I know I have no choice. This does not prevent me from being angry, from still shaking under the influence of anticipation, adrenaline, the action that is calling me.

Keeping my emotions quiet to let my reason speak is much more difficult than I remember. Six years without having to do it certainly must have rusted me.

Russell and his suite disappear and leave us alone to discuss the next steps. However, there is not much to discuss. Echo, Raven, and Octavia are already out waiting for Bellamy. The latter was kept by Jackson, just long enough for the doctor to check the stitches of his leg injury one last time. From the injury I caused him.

And maybe six years in space didn't rust him, because Bellamy suddenly lifts his eyes over Eric's shoulder and briefly crosses mine, as if conscious even without seeing it of my gaze weighing on him. This time, however, I'm the one lowering my head, ashamed of the memories of the eclipse and what the toxins in the air pushed me to do. To myself, but also to others. To Bellamy.

I turn my back on him, feeling my eyes burning and look up in a desperate attempt to clear my mind. I won't let emotions overwhelm me. Not now, when everyone seems to be counting on me, even if they don't want to. It's only when I clear my tight throat that I feel the pain. I rub my hand around my neck by reflex and wince when my fingers bump into reddened and damaged skin.

Of course, this is the moment Bellamy chose to get up and walk towards me.

**"Clarke? Can I talk to you for a minute?"**

I jump, drop my hand and turn around trying to hide my surprise and distress. I feel guilty and miserable enough for the things I did during the eclipse, no need to add to it and thus put my remorse and regret on his shoulders.

But it would be a misunderstanding of Bellamy to believe that I could avoid him this burden. And it would be forgetting that he knows me (or knew me) well enough to believe that he does not notice the move I am trying to hide from him.

His brown eyes carefully follow the movement of my fingers, from my neck to my side, then come to anchor themselves on the marks which, I know, already stain slowly but surely around my throat. The marks his hands left on my skin when, a few hours earlier, he tried to kill me.

His attempt to end my life, and the words that followed it, will haunt me for a long time, I know. I know this as I know that, even if his words and actions have overcome his thoughts, the basis of truth that inspired them is a bottomless pit of unspoken words and regrets. As I was about to slit my own throat when my mother's accusations through the radio had hurt me where I was already suffering, Bellamy's words take their source in the bitterness of our last moments on Earth.

_"In case you haven't noticed, Clarke, I don't need you anymore."_

_"How many times have you tried to kill me now?"_

_"I'm saving us from both of you."_

_"This time, you die, not me."_

An ice-cold and unpleasant shiver rises along my spine and causes the hair on my arms to rise. I try to hide my turmoil by answering him:

**"What?"**

My aggressive and annoyed tone doesn't even seem to scratch him. He moves forward until he finds himself so close to me, so close that the warmth of his body, so familiar and yet so foreign, swallows up mine and overwhelms me until finally, my anxiety, my doubts and the deep sadness that never seems to leave me finally soothe itself in his very presence.

I shiver again, but no more dread, while Bellamy continues to stare his dark eyes at the bruises that are appearing on my neck. He remains silent and his gaze penetrates me and all my barriers; slowly but surely peels back each layer and each wall I have built with the help of the chaos sown in my path and the abandoned ruins around me.

It is only when I am so close to feeling so exposed that I am shaky, that I end up calling out to him: "I am so close to feeling naked that I become shaky:

**"Bellamy ?"**

His name rolls over my tongue and caresses my lips in such an intimate way that I am embarrassed. My fault, for repeating it at least once a day for 2199 days. I don't have time to pull myself together when his burning irises suddenly plunge into mine and my throat tightens painfully in front of the distress of his eyes. I try to read the myriad of emotions that collide there, but my mind suddenly clears completely when he carries his fingers to my throat.

I can't stop my instinctive withdrawal motion, but I manage to fight to avoid running away completely. Something shatters in his eyes and the guilt eats away at me.

I watch him swallow painfully, just before he whispers:

**"Sorry. I didn't want to..."**

I shake my head. He doesn't have to apologize. Never.

This time, his hand goes up more slowly and I see the question in his eyes before he asks it aloud, his voice shaking and deep, almost broken.

**"May I?"**

It's Bellamy, I convince myself. If I can't trust him, I could never trust anyone. So, I simply nod to give him my consent, too overwhelmed by emotion to articulate even the slightest word.

The few seconds separating his fingertips from my skin are not enough to prepare me for his contact. That' s why I can prevent neither the shivering that runs through me when he softly touches my skin, nor the slight wince of pain that it tears me away, nor the heat that suddenly transcends my whole being.

I'm a wreck under his fingers. I don't even know what still makes me stand up. Maybe it's him? Maybe I am so used to keeping myself straight despite everything that might try to destroy me that it is this survival instinct that makes me stay on my feet at this very moment? Perhaps it is the missions that are awaiting us and of which I have forgotten everything at this precise second, but which are still ticking the corner of my brain because of their urgency...

Facing me, so close that his breath is tickling my cheeks and eyelashes, Bellamy doesn't seem to be in better shape. His eyes are shining with thousands of emotions that I am also trying to contain. This is not the place. Not the time. Not fair. Not right.

And it's amazing how my heart and head continue to know him so well, to guess and sense him, because I know what words will leave his mouth long before they do. I would like to interrupt him because I don't know if they will be able to hold on, my heart and my head, in front of so much tenderness and devotion. I would like to put my fingers on his lips and stop him from saying the words that may end up breaking me. But I remain motionless. His fingertips caress the edge of my throat and I remain motionless. He touches the bruises he caused himself and I remain motionless. His eyes meet mine. I hold his gaze. I am trying to give him the same tenderness, the same devotion. I'm trying to tell him I don't blame him. I am trying to tell him what my words are not ready to express yet.

This is the very moment, when I feel my heart bleeding in my chest, bleeding everything I can't confess to him, when his fingers start shaking and he sharply removes his hand from my neck, as if suddenly burned by all the unspoken things that are floating around and between us.

Then, in this new way that I discover as I get to know him again, he buries his hands in his pockets. And this attitude is so unlike him that I can't help but feel the bitterness that suddenly overflows me.

**"I'm so sorry, Clarke..."** he murmured, his voice tight.

I sigh.

**"Bellamy-"**

**"No, please don't stop me from apologizing. What I did- Clarke, what I almost did is unforgivable. Whatever excuses the eclipse might give me, I- It's unforgivable."**

**"Yet that's what we're good at, Bellamy. Forgiving each other."**

His fragile smile does not reach the brown of his eyes. Beneath the surface of his irises, a storm of regret and sadness roars and, this time, I don't know how to calm him down.

**"If Murphy hadn't been there, Clarke, I never would have been able to recover, I never-"**

This time, his voice breaks and he looks away as if taken aback by the emotions that are holding him and torturing him. My reaction is almost instinctive. I can't let him carry this guilt on his shoulders. As strong as they are, they cannot bring all the misery in the world. Like an instinct, my left hand comes to rest on his arm.

**"Hey..."**

He closes his eyes briefly, comes to his senses, seems to use my presence to anchor himself in the moment in the same way that I used his earlier to regain my mind. He exhales, then inhales slowly. When he turns his head towards me, he seems more composed, at least composed enough for me to add:

**"If I hadn't fought back, if Murphy hadn't stopped you... I played the "if game" for six years, Bellamy. You won't remake the world with assumptions. What is done, is done. We can't go back, we can only move forward."**

**"Move forward? I tried to strangle you, Clarke... It's not something we should ignore and erase with a clap of the hand."**

**"And I stabbed you."**

**"To defend yourself. To save Murphy. To prevent me from doing the unthinkable, I-"**

**"Bellamy, Stop."**

My tongue clicks, my tone thunders with impatience. I can't believe he's still so stubborn after all these years. I can't believe he still needs the same words to believe me and move on. And yet...

**"You're forgiven, Bellamy. I forgive you."**

And yet, as soon as the words are spoken, his shoulders crumble, the tormented expression on his face smoothes out, the storm in his eyes calms down. In the way his jaw contracts and pulsates, I guess he would like to say more, and I think that's what he's about to do when:

**"Bellamy?"**

His stance changes completely when Echo's voice resonates behind us. I see it as well as he also saw my whole being freezing when she appears in the tavern's opening.

**"I'll be right there,"** he replies, and I can't help but notice that even his voice sounds different.

The spy nods her head, then exits immediately. A few whispered words about Russell and the tactics to be addressed, the promise to bring Madi back to me safe and sound, and Bellamy disappears behind her heels.

I follow them without a second word until I reach the steps by which they will leave Sanctum. Then, my gaze slowly travels to the edge of the woods where Madi, Gaia, and Diyoza are waiting for them somewhere.

Among the red leaves, I can see Bellamy's silhouette.

I don't need to have any confirmation. I know he's the one who's walking away. And when he turns one last time before crossing the radiation barrier, I know that this final look is for me.


	3. Hidden Truths

_607 - because the memory of Bellamy that Josephine shows Clarke is simply shortened and it was my duty to set the truth right._

* * *

**"You were right, we can't let her win."**

Monty nods in my direction and resumes his lock picking as I turn my attention back to Josephine Ada Lightbourne's book collection. My fingers caress the thick leather of the bindings engraved with a VII. Then, the VII changes and is transformed into VIII. It only takes me a second to understand that these are Josephine's memories from now. The memories she creates with my body.

My heart suddenly beats faster when I grab one of them randomly.

* * *

_Josephine dances and sings, twirls and jumps. A song in French echoes in the room. I can't distinguish the lyrics, but they seem to amuse the young woman very much, as she wiggles around with a new brushstroke on the painting of her self-portrait._

_"Et la tu t'dis que c'est fini car pire que ça ce serait la mort  
Quand tu crois enfin que tu t'en sors  
Quand y'en a plus, et ben y'en a encore"_

_"And now you think it's over because worse than that would be death  
When you finally think you're doing well  
When there's no more, and there's still more."_

* * *

I close the book with a sharp flick and grab a second one without even bothering to put the first one away.

* * *

_I don't recognize the room I'm in, but Bellamy's voice immediately comes to my ears:_

**_"They are a danger to you. You're a Nightblood. And based on what we just saw, that seems to be the only reason they let us stay."_**

_He seems angry, but I don't have time to dwell on what he says, because already, my brain is running a thousand miles away, and my only thought is:_

**_"Madi. I have to go get her before they find out what she is."_**

_An incredible relief overwhelms me when Gaia steps in, following the thread of my panicked reasoning, and rushes out of the room in search of Madi._

* * *

I close the book and catch another volume, desperate to know what's going on there in my absence.

* * *

_Bellamy has that tormented look on his face. The one that usually announces nothing good, neither for himself nor for me._

_**"Where are you going?"** he asks, unable to calm his nerves._

_**"To see my mother,"** Josephine replied without taking herself apart. **"What's wrong?"**_

**_"How are we on different sides of this?"_**

_I don't even listen to Josephine's answer. I'm focused on Bellamy. On the way he laid his hands on his hips, the way he almost seems paralyzed, unable to take a deep breath, the way his eyes never leave my face, interrogating and curious._

_When he suddenly switches from English to Trig, I understand._

_He knows._

_In a flash, he grabs my body and pins it against the wall of the room where we are, one hand on Josephine's mouth to prevent her from screaming for help. His "who are you?" shattered and broken, fractures my heart and I can't help but scream when I see the syringe in Josephine's hand._

**_"Watch out!"_**

* * *

My outburst makes me close the book and already, I grasp the next one, trembling and eyes burning with tears barely contained.

* * *

_I enter the room at the same time as Josephine in what I think is her room... or at least what's left of it. The previously perfectly aligned paintings are in pieces on the floor, the cushions torn off, the curtains ripped, the chairs in heaps and the coffee table broken into thousands of pieces of metal and glass._

_In the midst of chaos stands Bellamy. The tie around his hands kept him on the ground, but it didn't seem enough to stop him from giving in to anger and turning everything within his reach into dust._

_He turns to us when the door opens and I can' t stay still, just a simple viewer. I walk towards him almost instinctively, noting with concern the dark circles under his eyes, the red that surrounds them and the way his voice breaks, exhausted, when he asks:_

_**"Why are you here?"**_

_He imperceptibly withdraws when Josephine walks towards him and explains that an alliance would be more advantageous for both of them than this unnecessary conflict._

_I can see the tears flowing in his eyes, and his throat tightening when he swallows painfully. When he turns his head away, I know it' s because he' s unable to look at me, to look at her in that body that was once mine, that is still mine._

_I am standing very close to him now and even if he can' t see or hear me, even if that time has already passed, even if I know it' s useless, I would like to tell him that I'm still here, somewhere, that I'm going to fight to get back._

_My thoughts are disrupted when the door opens again and Russel and Murphy enter the room._

_Murphy? What the..._

_I only need a few words to understand that it didn't take John long to mourn me and choose, as he always does, the winner's side. I'm not surprised, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth._

_Russell, the very figure of the mighty patriarch, looks upset and disappointed. But the words he addresses to Josephine echo in me._

**_"Don't you remember what it's like to lose someone you love?"_**

_Someone you love. Love._

_Then he turns to Bellamy, contrite, and says:_

**_"I know you're in pain. I know you want your revenge, I would want it too. We had a chance to bring our daughter back and we took it. We didn't consider the consequences."_**

The rest of this conversation is just a whole blurry and imprecise thing that I don't want to look at a second time. Because I've seen this scene before. I've already heard the deal Russell Lightbourne is offering Bellamy to pretend nothing happened. Like another woman doesn't live in my own body. Like these people didn't just murdered me in cold blood and stole my whole life.

A small part of me knows that Bellamy made the right choice. The choice I would have made. The only choice - if I may allow myself the oxymoron - that will ensure the survival and expansion of our people on this Moon. Yet another part of me selfishly wants to be fought for. To be avenged. That my disappearance is intolerable. That-

_My attention is immediately brought back to the memory in front of me when - instead of accepting Russell's deal, as I saw him do the first time - Bellamy, released by Josephine, throws himself on Sanctum's leader, grabs the strings now hanging on his wrists and uses them to strangle Russel. I stay stunned by his unexpected rage, shocked by the tangible devastation he feels._

_Behind him, Josephine calls out to him and the sound of my voice makes him turn slightly when she says:_

**_"If killing him is what you need, then do it. But let the violence ends here. An eye for an eye..."_**

_Bellamy hesitates. I can see the gears of his thoughts turning sometimes towards his heart, sometimes towards his head. When he finally releases Russell, the cry he shouts is so animal, so desperate, that tears start to flow by themselves on my cheeks._

_I know I probably just witnessed what was certainly one of the hardest decisions of his life. If the roles had been reversed, it would have been for me._

* * *

**"Clarke?"**

This time, it's Monty's voice that brings me back to the present, far from Josephine's hidden truths. My friend's eyebrows frown when he asks:

**"Are you crying?"**

I sniff and dry the tears that have run down my cheeks, but nevertheless, offer him a sincere smile.

**"I saw Bellamy, in Josephine's memories. He didn't just quit. He didn't just give up on me... He- He fought for me..."**

Emotion keeps me from finding the right words, but Monty still understands me. The fact that he's a physical projection of my subconscious probably helps a little.

**"Of course he wouldn't abandon you, Clarke. Never. And now you have to fight for him too. For all of them."**

With new energy, I follow Monty through the door he just opened, which finally gives us access to the most protected memory of Josephine Ada Lightbourne.


End file.
